Far From Home
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: As she grieves the loss of Alaric after nearly dying in the river that night, Elena finds comfort in a drunken encounter with Damon. Spurred on by this intimate distraction, the two of them explore the possibility of love in the midst of unshakable desire.
1. Distraction

Dawn was approaching slowly, ripping the stars from the sky. The bitter cold of the night was replaced by warm sunlight, forcing him to _feel_ again. Damon Salvatore dreaded his grief so much that he fingered his daylight ring, his hooded eyes locking onto the sun. All it took was one moment to stop the pain, to eliminate every emotion he'd ever felt in one fell sweep. Heaving a sigh, he took another swig of his bourbon.

It had been three weeks since Elena's heart had stopped; that fragile moment between death and resuscitation had been enough to end Alaric's life, and the memory of his friend dying in his arms was still perfectly clear. He still had the dirt from his grave under his fingernails; he still had his blood splattered on his jacket.

"Still sulking?" Elena was wobbling across the hot shingles, her arms straight out for balance. Damon could still feel the weakness of near-death in her body; she smelled of fear, uncertainty, and tears – not a lick of happiness or joy.

He shrugged, but didn't otherwise acknowledge her presence.

She plopped down beside him without invitation, setting her doe eyes on the horizon line. Her lips parted a few times, but it took her a while to form words. "Look, Damon… I know you and Alaric were really close… I loved him, too… but it's not healthy for you to isolate yourself like this; you haven't been eating, or sleeping, and I'm pretty sure those are the clothes you were wearing when… when it happened."

She had him there, and that fact made him smile. "You caught me," he admitted, staggering to his feet. He threw out his arms dramatically. "You win this round, oh Shepherd of Broken Vampires: Fix me."

Elena seemed to enjoy his theatrics. She grabbed one of his wrists and led him toward the top of the roof, slipping and sliding on tread-less flip-flops. Damon had a better solution. He scooped her into his arms, ignoring her squeal of protest, and stepped over the edge, landing with just a little spring at the bottom.

When he set her on the porch, she crossed her arms and gave him an indignant look. "Never do that again – _ever_." She turned on her heel and stomped into the house, reminding him of a pissed two-year-old. She paused in the doorway to make sure that he was coming, and to warn him of what was to come.

"Step 1: Shower. You stink."

"Will you be joining me?"

"In your dreams."

XxX

Damon walked out of the bathroom completely naked. It wasn't his original intention to be mischievous; he'd had his clothes and his towel ready, but, when he heard Elena pouring herself a drink downstairs – a drink from _his_ stash – he couldn't help himself. He sauntered into the den and struck a pose in the doorway, throwing out the bait.

"Hey, Elena, does this look benign to you?"

She looked back reflexively, but quickly turned away, settling deeper into the couch with her drink trembling in her right hand. Her face had been streaked with tears, her eyes reflecting the fire like glass. The playfulness in his mood drained away.

He dashed upstairs and threw on some pajama pants, returning to her side before she could take her first sip. His quick movements startled her and she nearly spilled her drink; he caught her wrist and steadied it, using his other hand to tip her chin up. For months, the two of them had been growing closer, and Damon had grown more protective with every passing moment. As much as she frustrated him, there was nowhere in the world he would rather be than right there, trying to be a better person – even if that made him a _terrible_ vampire.

"I thought the sulking party was over," he murmured softly, brushing a tear away with his thumb.

She laughed shortly, but sadness overcame her expression. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, burying her face in his shoulder and sobbing. "It's not fair, Damon. Everybody just dies, and we're left with nothing. I'm tired of… of burying people that I love."

"Shh." He shifted, allowing her to move closer. He stroked her back, wishing he didn't feel a powerful tremble in her spine. "We're gonna be okay; I know it seems like everything sucks right now – and it _does_ – but we just keep moving forward. Right? Isn't that what we do?"

She nodded into his skin, sniffling. A moment later, another cry rippled through her body. "But I want him back; I want my mom and dad back, I want Jenna back, hell, I even want John back." She pulled away slightly, staring up at him with impossibly wide, teary eyes. "The pain just won't stop; it's all I can think about. Just make it stop, please, Damon…"

Damon didn't know what to do; responding to her grief with his own would just make it worse for both of them. He tried to think of what his brother would do, or what one of Elena's friends would do, but he was drawing blanks. He knew nothing but his own form of comfort; he had nothing but his own solution, and his solution was to stare at her and hope that the problem would solve itself.

As if sensing his indecision, or finally barreling over the edge of her own sanity, Elena rested both hands on his shoulders and kissed him. It wasn't like the kiss on her front porch, or the passion-filled moment they'd shared at the hotel; this one was brought on by desperation. It was a plea for distraction. In the back of his mind, Damon knew that she wasn't in the right state-of-mind, and that taking advantage of her in this condition would go against every moral he'd tried to sustain, but the feeble presence of his conscience couldn't compare to the way it felt to kiss Elena. He didn't just let it happen; he embraced it.

Damon pulled her closer, forcing her lips apart and deepening the kiss. She tasted like alcohol. She wrapped both arms around his neck and slid into his lap so that every inch of her chest was touching his; the intimate embrace awakened his vampiric senses, allowing him to hear her frantic heartbeat, making him feel her pulse pounding through her thighs, rhythmic in his mind.

Growling with lust, he wrapped his arm around her body and flipped them, pressing her into the couch. He broke the kiss, leaving a trail from the base of her jaw to her chest, tasting her skin; she ran her fingers through his hair, arching toward his mouth. Damon took that as an invitation. He dug his hands into either side of her shirt and tore it in half, only taking the time to unhook her bra because it was dangerously close to her bare skin, and he didn't want to hurt her. As he slid the cloth from her body, she hands fell to his shoulders and she blushed. He felt the heat surge down her body. It took every ounce of self-control he had left to control himself.

All of these years, and here she was, giving herself to him. Her body was so damn beautiful, like porcelain in the shadows of this candlelit room; her flesh was softer than anything he'd ever touched, and it smelled so sweet. Elena didn't give him much time to admire her, drawing his eyes to hers with a soft touch to the cheek. Those brown pools he'd fallen in love with were smiling at him, finally free of tears. Her hand applied the softest pressure to his shoulder, and she bit her lip, asking him for something she wouldn't voice.

And, of course, he delivered.

Sliding down her body, he flicked her skirt up over her belly, gripping the edges of her underwear and sliding them down her thighs. She writhed slightly as his fingers ran along her tender skin, watching him all the while with those shy, lustful eyes. He didn't take the time to admire this part of her – there would be plenty of time for that, he reasoned – but went straight to the tasting. Many nights he'd dreamt of this moment, but nothing could prepare him for the intimate experience of pleasuring Elena Gilbert.

He drew his tongue up her sex, his eyes darting to her face when she made a very soft noise. Her eyes were closed, her fists clenched at her sides, her toes curling. He went on to kiss her, tasting her arousal as it grew and grew beneath his mouth. She lurched and writhed, moaning each time he paused and then squeaking when he hit a sensitive spot. It took her less than a minute to orgasm, and it was magnificent. Her entire body went rigid, her thighs attempting to close, to shut him out. She let out a short scream of pleasure, her belly convulsing. He continued to lap at her, drinking her juices like they were a fine wine.

"Damon," she moaned, her head dropping to the side. Sensing that she could take no more, he left her sex and crawled up her body, holding himself on his elbows and hovering over her face. He waited for her to say something.

She stared at him with dilated eyes, shaking her head slightly. He thought for a moment that she would say something heart-breaking, that she would send him away and never want to speak to him again, but it was the opposite. She placed one hand on his back and touched his cheek with the other, pulling him closer. She wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him downward.

Damon didn't need any more encouragement.

He slid his hand between them and freed his manhood, settling himself at her entrance and groaning when the heat washed over him. She pulled him into a kiss and, unable to wait a moment longer, her slid inside of her.

Her lips parted against his and she moaned. Her thighs tightened around his body, her hands stroking his bare back. He buried himself as far as he could and then withdrew slowly, provoking another moan that all but drove him wild. Her nails dug into his skin and she threw her head back. Damon began a slow, steady rhythm that sent fire through his body; Elena writhed under him, kissing his neck and shoulders but eventually meeting his lips. When he felt her tightening around him, he sped up; she began to moan with each stroke, her hands clenching, her tongue stilling against his.

She came with a loud moan, the muscles inside of her contracting around him. It was impossible to hold on after that, so Damon gave a few more harsh thrusts and came with her. He rested against her for a moment, breathing heavily.

"Damon…" she whispered, drawing him out of the haze of satisfaction. "Damon… you're heavy…"

He chuckled and pushed off of the couch, sitting up on his knees. He saw that Elena wasn't fully conscious, just wavering between exhaustion and stubbornness; at least she didn't seem to realize the consequences of what they'd done.

"Come on," he murmured, dragging her into his arms and turning toward the steps. On their way up, her head thudded against his chest and her eyes fluttered shut. "Elena?" He smiled, arriving at his bed and yanking back the covers. He laid her down and tucked her in, crouching by her side to watch her peaceful face. "Sweet dreams. Don't hate me in the morning, okay?"


	2. There Has to be a Morning After

**Sorry it took so long to update. Enjoy.**

**XxX**

Elena woke with sunlight pouring over her bare back, a soft, chilly breeze rolling over her skin, and a warm arm draped protectively across her shoulders. For a fleeting moment, one that made her heart soar, she thought that the last few months had been a bad dream, and that she was lying beside Stefan, safe and sound with most of her life still intact. That thought faded as quickly as it came, and memories of the night before assaulted her aching head. _Damon_. She'd had sex with him.

Taking a deep breath, she moved his arm away from her and turned toward him. He was sleeping, his face mashed into the pillow, his body splayed carelessly across both sides. She could feel several places where their bodies met. His eyes flickered beneath their lids, as if he was lost in a silent nightmare.

She thought about leaving him there to sort out his own problems so that she could hate herself in solitude, but she couldn't ignore his vulnerability in this moment. If she left, what would he think? She knew his mind to be very dark, always finding the worst reasons for everything that she did – if she left him now, there was no telling where his thoughts would take him.

Just moments later, as if unconsciously sensing her resolution to stay, his eyes fluttered open. She'd never seen him wake up because he rarely took the time to rest, and his door was always shut and locked. His eyes were glassy and dazed, his expression yet to fill with sarcastic arrogance, his hair ruffled and sticking out in all directions. Sunlight cascaded down his shoulders and pooled in the small of his back. The fact that he was very handsome had never been lost on her – or anyone, for that matter – but in that moment she thought he looked so much better. Without the hatred and the sadness, the fear and loneliness, he was a different man.

When he was fully awake, he watched her with narrowed eyes. She couldn't decipher his thoughts, but she could tell that they were dark. So were hers. She was lying in bed with Stefan's brother, the one she'd wanted so badly to give up, and she couldn't knock the sparkle out of her eyes. While she was here with him, the outside world didn't seem so foreboding, and she imagined that she could push through the troubles that awaited her. But what was he feeling? Would he saunter off, thanking her for the good time? That would be _so_ Damon of him, and it would be so _Elena_ of her to cry about it, and then eventually get over it and let him back into her life. She could only imagine how much that would hurt.

But for all of her wondering, all of the things that could've been going on with her dark friend, not one of her prophecies came to life. He reached out and stroked her cheek, his fingertips making her skin tingle, and he frowned a heartbreaking frown. "I'm sorry I took advantage of you," he whispered, as if afraid of his own words. His eyes dug into hers, analyzing her expression. "Alcohol, and moping, and sunrise… and you were crying, and you know I'm not good at emotional stuff…"

He sounded so pitiful that she laughed. His eyes narrowed immediately and she covered her mouth, trying to contain her giggling. Perhaps a bit of the alcohol was still in her system. "You didn't take advantage of me," she corrected, hauling herself up with the sheets securely around her body. "If anything, I took advantage of you."

For a moment, she thought he would be angry, but it faded into humor. He flipped on his side and pulled the sheets to his waste. "Oh, well, in that case, shame on you."

She grinned, but also blushed. She couldn't escape the fact that she was nude in his bed, holding onto his sheets for dear life, and she couldn't escape his predatory eyes, the way they ran down her shoulder, trying to press through the thin fabric. She curled into herself a little and pressed her lips together. "Damon, I… I need my clothes."

He smiled teasingly. "They're downstairs. Go ahead."

"That's not happening."

"Oh, come on, let me have a little fun." He sat up, ruffling his hair with one hand. His eyes shone with youth and light; happiness, if she looked hard enough. "I spent the whole night thinking you'd hate me for this. Don't you think I deserve just one more look before you cut me off forever?"

Blushing fiercely, she yanked the sheets away from him and slid from the bed, wrapping herself up the best that she could. He watched with a smug smile on his face, retreating to the pillows with both hands folded behind his head. She tried to look at anything but his chest as she addressed him. "Nobody can know this happened," she said firmly. The hurt look on his face stabbed her heart. "Damon, it wasn't… it wasn't a mistake, but I just don't want them to know, okay?"

He held his hand out as if gripping a knife, and then jammed it into his chest and twisted, making puppy-dog eyes at her.

"Now you're being dramatic."

"Elena, get back in bed." He rolled off of the bed and walked over to her, tilting his head. He fisted the sheets in her hands and tugged them from her grip; for some reasons he let them fall to the ground. His eyes darted down momentarily, and then he looked at her face. His voice was soft again, lacking sarcasm. "I'll get your clothes. Besides, the wonder-witch and Barbie are already at the door. Letting you go down there in a sheet might count as telling them."

She nodded shakily and, as he flashed through the door, she collected the sheets and ran for the bed, diving into the comforter and giggling at herself. The sudden glee came from a full heart – for weeks it had been hollow. Alaric was dead, for good this time, and Stefan had left soon after; he said he needed to clear his mind. His room, which held all of his favorite things, was empty, and so was her life. But now, she'd managed to smile. Not a pity smile, not a forced smile, just a smile; just a moment of genuine happiness, and, of course, the thought of a genuine friend to watch over her.

Elena couldn't hear what was going on downstairs, but it didn't worry her. She curled back into her side of the bed and stared at the window, watching the trees sway with the wind, watching the clouds drift away. Damon came back only minutes later, flopping down on his side and turning on his side. She could feel him watching her. Eventually he drew closer, his arm looping around her side – under the covers. The touch of his skin was cold, but welcome, and she leaned into his hold. He pressed his face into the back of her neck, laying a sweet kiss to her skin.

"I don't want this to end," he murmured, his breath hot on her back.

She held onto his arm with both of hers, distracting herself by running her fingers over his knuckles. She didn't know what to tell him. She didn't know why she was still here with him, letting him hold her, reveling in comfort that she knew could only be temporary. She'd thought about being with him so many times, and it always came to a dark end, and yet she was here letting it happen. If she stayed in his arms much longer, she'd have to accept that he would, in the end, destroy her.

"Damon… do you think there's a Heaven?"

His fingers flexed within hers. She felt him blink. "There was a time that I wished for it… welcomed it… but, if there's really a god running all of this, I never want to meet him." He pulled his hand from hers and pressed it wholly against her front half; his elbow rested against her stomach and his hand fell into the crook of her neck. It was such an intimate hold that her entire body relaxed into his. "Imagine everything bad that's ever happened to you," he said after a moment of thought. His voice was husky and dark, edging on anger. "Imagine the people you've lost, and the horrible way that you've lost them. If there's some sick bastard making those things happen, why would you want to spend eternity with him?"

She pressed her face into the back of his hand, shutting her eyes. The only person that she'd meant was Alaric, but the faces of her parents and Jenna came readily to the front of her mind. "… I just hope they're all together somewhere… and happy."

He stiffened very slightly. His forehead leaned into the back of her head. "No, no, you're probably right. We get the worst of it here, living. Or _not_ living, in my case."

The two of them lay that way for the rest of the morning, until dawn turned to daylight, and daylight shifted into noon. Elena drifted in and out of sleep, making up for the hours lost during these troubling times, lulled by the protection that Damon offered. When she could sleep no longer, she let go of his arm and twisted in his hold, shivering when his hand rolled over her bare back. He was awake, watching her with eyes like the surface of Neptune. His palm pressed flat against her skin and he shifted to accommodate her new position, a frown permanently etched on his face.

"You should go, before the two lost amigos come back," he said, disturbing the silence. He released her and lunged backwards, delivering her clothes from the floor. He pulled himself into a sitting position and turned away, waiting.

Elena made do with what she was given. Her shirt was torn in half, so he'd substituted an obscure band shirt that fit her more like a poncho. She didn't have a brush, so she ripped her fingers through her hair until it was mildly presentable. Damon remained as still as a statue while she got ready to leave, turned away so that she couldn't see what he was thinking. It worried her.

When she was dressed, she circled the bed and sat beside him, staring at the closet and gathering her words. Damon breathed deeply, but remained silent.

"You know that I care about you," she said at last, wrapping both hands around one of his. He was tense. She didn't look at his face. "B-B-But this shouldn't have happened. It's too soon – for both of us." She dared a glance at his expression, and shrunk away at the cold emptiness she found. "We should just… stay away from each other for a while."

Unable to look at him again, she walked out of his bedroom, and out of his life, for the time being. As she got to her car, she heard a few loud crashes inside, glass shattering and wood crunching, with a vicious scream to accompany them. She felt like smashing a few things herself, but the emotions bottled themselves up. She had to be strong now; she didn't have the luxury of throwing a tantrum. Jeremy was waiting for her, and Bonnie and Caroline would be so worried at this point. She had excuses to think of, and chores to do, and bills to pay. She had to leave Damon to his own devices, and he had to leave her to hers.


	3. Confrontation

He'd spent eight nights standing outside of her house, listening to her heartbeat and assuring himself that she wouldn't be harmed. His mind was obstructed by pints of alcohol, so the instincts that guided him were much harsher; he wanted so badly to walk up to her door, demand that she let him inside, and accuse her of everything he could think of, but the fleeting hope for the reconstruction of their friendship lingered. He couldn't live with never seeing her smile again. It was nearly midnight on the eighth day since they'd last spoken, and, as he waited in the shadows of her yard, he began to feel uneasy. He pulled a few breaths over his tongue and channeled his hearing.

Damon started moving without intending to. He heard her shouting, and whether it was a cry for help or just a harmless, spontaneous bout of karaoke, he couldn't spend another moment in stillness. The overwhelming scent of her blood found its way to his nose.

So much for staying away.

XxX

Elena stood beside the sink, chopping vegetables as quickly as she could without slicing her fingers off. The pot across the kitchen boiled loudly, demanding attention, and the video game in Jeremy's room was at the highest possible volume. Her head throbbed mercilessly; her thoughts raced between the hurt on Damon's face that day and the back of Stefan's leather jacket as he split town. But she also had to think of the sorrows she'd always had – caring for Jeremy, cooking and cleaning, preserving the legacy of her parents and hoping to God they weren't frowning down at her.

"Jeremy, shut that thing off!" she screamed, twisting to glare angrily at the staircase. What she saw startled her so badly that she dropped the knife; it clattered loudly to the floor, missing her bare feet by mere inches.

He were there in her kitchen. It was the first time she'd seen Damon Salvatore in eight days, and all of the good things she'd remembered had turned to ash in his expression. He was drunk, disheveled, and wild-eyed, scowling at her with black eyes. If she hadn't known him the way she did, she would've turned and run in the other direction.

He stared at her, his lips parted. "You're bleeding."

Elena looked down, realizing that she'd been nursing her finger all this time. Why hadn't she felt it when she'd been cut? "Damon… maybe you shouldn't be in here." The way he was looking at her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She'd seen that look before, echoed in the faces of the vampires that she knew. "Self-control isn't your favorite game, remember?"

He narrowed his eyes and walked over, taking her wrist roughly. "Shut up. You're the _last_ person I would bite." He examined her wound for a split second, and then began opening all of the cabinets. She almost asked what he was doing, but she didn't want to make him angrier than he already was.

"Can't you go a few weeks without almost dying?"

"It's just a cut. It's not even that deep."

Damon came back with antiseptic, bandages, and medical wrap, which he quickly put to use. He spoke so quickly that she barely followed it. "Yeah, and then it gets infected, and then you go into septic shock, and then you die. Or you get pneumonia. Or you slip on an ice cube and disconnect your spine from your _brain_." He cleaned the wound, and then applied the cream, which stung fiercely. "My point is, you're so fragile. All you have to do is fall down the stairs and you're done. End of the line." He twisted her arm violently with one hand, making her yelp. "See? That's not even my full strength. That's human strength, and it can break your bones. It's pitiful."

Suddenly the thought of being alone with him was much less comforting. When they laid in bed together, he'd been so gently, so sweet. His touch had been softer than a dream, and when she looked at his face she felt enough raw affection to stifle her guilt. But now he was too drunk to think straight, stumbling between two different sides of himself. She was in danger.

"I'm fine. Really. I'm always fine."

"That's because I _make_ you fine." He stepped back and released her, leaning against the counter with both arms crossed. There was a distinct difference between a drunk man and a drunk vampire – vampires had full control of their bodies; it was only their minds that suffered. She could see strange ideas flitting through his face.

She edged toward the door, "I know you do. And I'm grateful. But, uh, Bonnie's expecting me, so I really can't stay here."

He looked pointedly at the boiling pot, ticking his tongue. "Liar, liar, pants on fire."

She froze. He sounded like his old self, the one that toyed with people's lives for the hell of it. The soft purr of his voice became the calling card of a psychopath lingering just beneath that beautiful face. He was the result of emotional pain, something that Damon didn't handle well, and copious amounts of alcohol – something that he had way too much access to. When he was in this state of mind, something bad always happened.

"You need to go home, Damon, before you do something you'll regret." She couldn't move anymore. There was no point in running from something that you would always run back to. "Please, just leave."

The blackness in his eyes flickered; the veins that called the beast began to swell over his cheeks, the color of tainted blood. He tilted his head to the side, another sign of the old Damon, and puffed a breath through his nose. "Why did you sleep with me?"

Taken off guard, she stared at him blankly. "What?"

"_You_ kissed _me_," he said, dropping his arms and stepping closer to her. She moved to escape him, but he pinned her to the counter with only the force of his glare. He was inches from her face, staring her down. "You kissed me, and then we had sex, and we… had a thing in the morning," he moved his hand more gently to her face, cupping her cheek. She tried to pull away, frightened, but suddenly he gripped her face with both hands, the force strong enough to give her a jolt of pain and adrenaline. "Tell me why you can't make up your mind," he whispered frantically, shaking his head, his eyes narrowed with uncertainty, sadness, and rage. "Why can't we just be two people who… who… who… who are just together… why can't I have that? What's wrong with _me_?"

Guided by very misleading instincts, Elena folded both hands over his and met his desperate eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you, Damon." She pulled his hands away carefully, freeing her face, and cupped his cheeks. "This just can't happen right now."

His eyes continued to search her face, but she couldn't fathom what he was looking for. Whatever it was, he must've found it. He stumbled away, back into the island, and stared momentarily at the floor. "I'll probably sound like the biggest sap in the world for saying this, but," he shook his head, as if trying to dislodge an idea, "It was nice not to be alone for once. Can't we have that again, just one time?" He looked up, that desperation returning, "I know you felt it, too. I saw it in your eyes. You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me."

There was a pause. She considered him. She knew that his words were true – she was desperate to feel safe again, and distant from the problems that had plagued her for so long, but, until this moment, fear of the future had overwhelmed her. That fear broke, if only temporarily, and released her from responsibility.

She stepped forward and kissed him. He seemed surprised, but returned her kiss eagerly, filling her with the taste of bourbon and whiskey. He pressed her back into the counter and ran his hands down her body, making her shiver – he grabbed for the edges of her shirt, intending to tear it in half again, but she forced it over her head before he could. There was no stopping what she'd started, even if she'd wanted to. The alcohol and the pent-up emotion unloaded, making him rougher, but not dangerously so.

Within seconds he was cupping her breasts in both hands, kissing and suckling on her neck, pinning her to the counter with his hips. She had no control over him. His lips wrapped around her nipples a moment later and she bit her tongue to hold back a scream. His hand slid roughly down the front of her jeans and into her underwear; his fingers jabbed at her insides. And then he was behind her, carrying her into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind them. She didn't even think of why he would've done it – she was too consumed with what he was doing to her.

Damon growled possessively as he set her down in front of the sink. He ripped her pants down to her ankles and stood in a flash, holding her from behind, pressing the entirety of their bodies together. He kissed her neck hungrily, suckling at her skin, with one hand stroking her sex and the other holding her arms still. She didn't know whether to moan or to scream, whether he was hurting her, or pleasuring her. It was all mixed up in a seriously faraway mind. The way that he held her, the strength in his arms, the way he thrust against her back, it all added up to an early climax, which surged through her body like electricity. She screamed through the hand that was clamped over her mouth and leaned into him, unsure of what she wanted in such a wonderful moment. It was like he knew where all of her buttons were, everything that made her squirm inside, and he was using it all at the same time.

"No, stop," she said breathlessly, shifting away from his fingers. The sensation of it was beginning to become overwhelming, peaking to the point of pain. He withdrew immediately and moved away; suddenly the warmth she'd felt vanished. She turned to find him staring at her with wide, glassy eyes, as if he'd been caught in floodlights. She realized her words could've sounded a little too pitiful.

He seemed to sober in moments. "Did I hurt you?"

She took a breath and shook her head, trying to stop herself from trembling. She'd gone from fearing him to wanting him so quickly that she was wired with adrenaline, literally buzzing from the inside out. "No, I'm fine, I'm… fine." She took a few more breaths, but they were all shaky. What had she done? How could one person feel so much guilt?

Damon watched her with that sad, caring expression he often wore nowadays – when he was pitying her, or comforting her, he would put it on, like a clown wearing make-up to make the children feel safe. Now it seemed much more genuine; the blackness in his eyes was matched pace-for-pace by the light that had always shone through his actions.

He stepped closer and held her shoulders, kissing her tenderly on the forehead. "I'll go if you want me to, but it doesn't have to be that way."

She felt tears forming in her eyes. She didn't know why. "I don't want you to go." That much was true about this situation. Whenever he left, it was like losing everyone all over again. He was her rock, despite his issues, despite the graves they'd dug because of him. He always managed to be the light guiding her out of the darkness, even if he never admitted it. She didn't want to lose that. She didn't want to let go of his company.

"Then I'll stay," he whispered. "I'll go talk to Jeremy – you should probably stop that pot from boiling over." When she said nothing, he pressed his forehead to hers and shut his eyes, speaking as softly as she'd ever heard him speak. "We're safe now, Elena. Nothing can hurt you. It's time to live again."


End file.
